


Now I am here

by Matthew1972



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Asexual Relationship, Blood, Boys Kissing, Case Fic, Crime Scenes, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Hugs, Hurt, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Magic, Monster Hunters, Pagan Gods, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matthew1972/pseuds/Matthew1972
Summary: Castiel and Sam have come to another nameless town to free it from the claws of a dark and ancient power. As they work the case their friendship grows stronger, changing into something more or does it? This, here, now… brings the confirmation they each needed.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Castiel/Sam case fic, set around season 12. In which there are no Brits around other than Crowley, who hovers on the far perimeter of this story with Dean trying to call the shots. No doubt Crowley is up to no good as per usual.

Up ahead of him the crime scene bustles with law enforcement officers. Wind rustles the many feet of yellow ribbons that cordon off the alley, but Castiel waves his fake FBI badge and he's allowed to walk past them without much resistance. Confidence is half the game… and over the years he's learned it well. As such he barely winces at the crude scents of blood, garbage and wet concrete around him. The damp alley is almost anonymous to him. One of many in the country… except that out here lingers the awful smell of a violent death. Though his vessel can't pick up on it too well, all of his angelic senses cringe over the remnant images of the life wasted by yet another monster. The only question is whether this one is human or not.

Castiel walks on between the high rise buildings, most of which have seen better days. The sound of his presence mingles with the many voices, but he aims only towards one set. Next to a still wet pool of blood and the line of bootprints, which lead away from the dead victim, Sam is talking to the local sheriff. This one is a bulky man, in his late forties, of at least six foot and change high. Sam though, as so often, stands even taller… albeit more quiet and thoughtful. He's taking notes while the sheriff lists off the details which his colleagues have gathered from the crime scene so far. His face is sombre, tired even, and full of bitter realisation, a look from which alone Castiel discerns that yes, they are facing an inhuman monster.

Will it never end? But, being hunters, this is what they do. Another case to solve and forever more innocents to protect. Five dead men so far, but if they have it their way there shall be no more. With that thought in mind Castiel closes the last of the distance while he takes his badge out of his pocket for a second time with a by now well-practised move. It should be easy to do it right… but as so often Castiel gets it wrong, and instead he holds his badge out upside down…

To his concealed joy the flash of recognition over his mistake on Sam's face is an immediate one. Sadness shifts into a momentarily smile of dimpled amusement, of fondness even. Not chastised by it in the least Castiel greets him with a simple, "Agent." He knows that he doesn't have to say more to tell Sam that he's here for him. Not when they are so much closer these days than he'd ever thought possible before.

"Agent." Sam answers him, smiling still, eyes quick to rove over him. The moment passes them by entirely too soon. It has to, because the case with its latest victim that drew them here begs for their attention.

Belatedly Castiel flips over his badge to show it to the sheriff in the right manner. "Agent Jones", the man reads, "As I was telling your partner, the single witness here is an unreliable one at best. A homeless guy, we know only as David, last name unknown. He's always smoking whatever makes him see things that aren't there. Said it was a man but not. He saw antlers, hooves and yet a torn off shirt too. Makes one wonder, but there ain't proof to back up anything he says…"

"Where may we find him?" Sam asks.

Shrugging, the sheriff points off in the general direction of the far end of the alley. "Ten blocks that way, under the bridge, or on a park bench. Who knows? We keep telling him off, keep him locked up for a night and by morning we have to send him back out, because we ain't no shelter for the homeless. Shame, but tell that to the politicians who closed it down last year."

Castiel can't help but cringe at the crude words, which the sheriff speaks. As much as he loves humans he sees their flaws too, knows how they each struggle with life and how some fail to win the battles on their mind. Poor souls lost, with no one to look out for them when they need it most. Health is such a fragile thing to hold onto, far too breakable, especially for the poor. Without shelter or love… well, some went insane. But did that count for David too? Or had he seen what most people closed their eyes for? Had he walked away from a monster doing its worst?

"Thank you." Sam tucks away his notebook and pen in his dark grey overcoat. As the sheriff walks off in his response the hunter faces Castiel with a sombre look. "We need to find David. Hear him out, because a man with antlers? It's a new one even for us… unless you have any ideas?"

Seeking out his thousands of years old memories, Castiel can pick out nothing but a whisper of knowledge. "Not as such. I can only recall the vague memory of the pagan God Cernunnos. The Ancient Celtic tribes worshipped him and trusted in that he would maintain the cycle of life; birth, fertility and death included. He too had antlers on his head, but he's not been seen for many centuries. I'm not sure if he still lives."

"Would he have a reason to resurface? Or come here, far from where he was last?"

Castiel smiles over how Sam runs with the idea, how he doesn't dismiss if off-hand. "I am unsure."

"Let's find out then…" Sam walks off, towards the golden Lincoln Continental, which Castiel had parked by the side of the road upon his arrival in the otherwise dull city of nameless faces.

* * *

Sam unfolds his long body out of the Lincoln shotgun seat with a wry smile. As much as he likes going on cases with Castiel he is no fan of his means of transport. Deep down though he finds the match both odd and strangely fitting. He'd have to be blind to not see how much of an awkward presence the angel is amongst humanity, and it's not due to his lack of trying to fit in, because Castiel always is more than eager to learn from them what he can. He sure has come a long way too… but something otherworldly always thrums in his essence. More so even than his grace. It's often easy to forget for how long Castiel has lived, but when - like before - he admits to having met pagan Gods or having watched the Babylonians build their tower or something alike Sam is reminded all too keenly of how much more than any other being he knows his friend has witnessed.

Closing the car door behind him, Sam looks across its roof, waiting for Castiel to get out as well. The Lincoln has seen better days for sure, but the stubborn engine under its hood runs on still… defiant and proud, like their low on grace angel. Castiel now leans against its side as if to keep himself up. A sigh escapes him, silent and sorrowful a sound almost. Before Sam can even acknowledge what he saw or heard Castiel turns around to face him, blue eyes full of intent agelessness…

"I am fine", Castiel says, before Sam can ask it.

The assured manner by which his friend walks off into the park catches him off guard. Sam though is quick to follow in his wake and he takes larger strides to fall into place by his side. He glances over at Castiel when he does, assessing the closed off demeanour and seeing into the unspoken struggle that lies beyond it. Yeah, they both need a win… to be able to do something right for humanity. To set straight the balance, which has recently tipped over towards the bad and ugly, towards hell. Fault is a harsh word and even a worse feeling, one which Sam knows well, and one he can see rest behind those distant eyes aimed out into the world from a place far beyond his grasp. Can he fathom the most recent pain of his angelic friend? The losses he has suffered? Each kill of a sibling, no matter how wrong they were or how much bad they'd done, seems to take a piece out of Castiel too. No, Sam has no idea… he can't imagine it, and so he doesn't try. All he can do is be here should his friend want to talk.

It feels bitter sweet to Sam how easy it is to walk side by side through the park in the bleak midwinter sunlight. The barren trees too align with their shared sombre mood. Between them there isn't any discomfort, because their much needed silence fits in the chaos that is their lives. And for a moment too Sam doesn't miss his wayward big brother, and how Dean had run off with Crowley to seek answers and maybe redemption. Another unlikely joint venture with the King of Hell, one that may pay off… or not. Who knows? Nothing is ever sure when it includes Crowley, but as much as Sam hates the idea of an alliance there too have been a few times when the smart-ass demon ruler has helped them out in the long run. Good… evil… the longer he's been a hunter the less he sees it as black and white. When are things ever simple? Is there ever a chance that their choices don't come back to bite them in the ass? Probably not. Sam though also knows far too well that not making the decision to fight evil isn't an option either.

So yes, he gets why Castiel feels exhausted, but nothing stops them from following through on why they are here and so they keep on walking, searching. Bench after bench… and no sign of David. The sun lowers in the sky, unaware and uncaring of their need for daylight. The late afternoon air cools further around them. His breath now comes out in white clouds of warm puffs which fade away on the breeze. Fleeting… wasted, but not. He is about to give in and call it a day, but before he can put the thought into words or action Castiel points out ahead of them. "There…"

Sam nods, catching sight too of the man lying on the bench up ahead. David is half hidden by the ominous branches-shaped shadow of a grand oak tree, which bathes itself in orange light fading to red. The day is almost done, but so is their search. Relief floods Sam's mind… but something in Castiel tenses too much for him not to feel apprehensive as well. Like one force still they close the distance towards the bench and its too quiet occupant. Is David asleep? Maybe not, because something in the forlorn looking figure of a man lies too curled up in on himself. It's a hunter's sense more so than anything, until Sam gets closer and he spots the pool of blood. Every well-worn layer of clothes David is wearing is soaked in thick red liquid. The scent of loss is sharp, even to his human senses. "Can you…" Sam starts, but he curses when even as Castiel presses two fingers onto a half hidden pulse point he too hangs his head with a look of sorrow on his face. "Damn."

* * *

Tired and cold, Castiel follows Sam towards the street level motel room. A black painted number of 67 marks out their front door in a row of several set around the parking lot. On second try of the key Sam forces it to give way to a sparse interior of pale greens and sombre greys. It looks far less inviting than the hopeful sign outside had suggested. Castiel though doesn't care, because in here it is warm, sheltered and safe enough to rest his vessel for a while. Sam too looks as defeated as he feels, his body language plain enough as he crashes down onto the seat of the nearest arm chair. Rubbing his face, the hunter sighs and swallows down the regret, not for the first time in the evening. While not many care for a troubled, homeless man Sam counts his loss as no different than those victims who'd come before him. Castiel too is more than angry about finding David too late. Their only witness to have seen two killings… is it a coincidence or a deliberate kill, one aimed to thwart them?

Castiel drops the newspaper, which he'd bought from the vendor on the edge of the park, on the salon table. A night of research? No, because certain basic human needs must exceed their case. "Sam…", Castiel kneels before him to draw out his attention. "It wasn't our fault. We didn't know that the monster had caught his scent already."

"We should have." Sam meets his gaze with eyes full of misery and self-aimed blame. "Cas…"

Shaking his head, Castiel kneels down to reach for the laces of Sam's shoes. Swift and silently he tugs them free. Shoes fall carelessly to the floor… ditched and forgotten for the night ahead. Socks, coat and suit jacket follow. Sam doesn't meet his eyes when Castiel aims for the red tie fastened around his neck in a loose, but decent knot. "Food and sleep", he says as he undoes the silken contraption with the muscle memory of his vessel alone. Some habits of Jimmy Novak had crept in from day one and they'd never left him. The irony of his often resurfacing memory however no longer plagues Castiel, but to this date he wishes that his presence hadn't caused the devout man and his family far too many losses.

Regret, as plain as he can see it in Sam, he can feel it in his essence too. Far too human emotions… because with his grace so low he's more in touch with humanity than he's ever been. His growing need for comfort is enough to move him into action further. Thoughtless he removes the trench coat from his shoulders as well as his suit jacket, shoes and socks. Like Sam he feels too tired to undress further, and maybe with the no-star motel bedlinen it is the better choice anyhow. While they have a bed each to rest on in the twin room the few feet of distance in between looks too wide. Unplanned for their hands remain locked, with their fingers entwined, as Sam pulls him onto the left bed with him. He though remains silent… pleading without a word. Castiel follows him without pause or thought other than longing, careless of how they will be a tight fit.

He's never held a man in his arms before, not like this. With his back turned on him Sam spoons up even closer against him than needed. Their entwined hands next come to rest over Sam's beating heart. The steady thrum of it is enough to soothe the worry in Castiel to sleep. Though he can't follow it in essence he closes his eyes, ready to retreat into himself for a while. "Sleep", he tells Sam.

"I am not so sure that I can."

"If you want, I could…"

"No", Sam cuts off his suggestion before he can finish it. "Save your grace, don't waste it on unimportant things."

Castiel can't help but frown over how little Sam deems himself worthy of help. "Sleep is important. You need your strength."

"As do you." Silence returns to the room, but only for a few long seconds of peaceful calm. Unexpected, Sam chuckles into the night. When he speaks again his voice comes out even softer around the edges than before, clouded by what he's denying himself so far. "You know, if Dean saw us… but Cas, I am glad you are here. Promise me that you'll stay until I am awake? I don't think I can face the morning alone. This case…"

"Will have to wait until dawn… and yes, you have my word." Though he can't quite follow the hunter's train of thoughts Castiel doesn't want to delve into them and upset Sam further. Here and now, for the night, he can at least watch over one Winchester… over someone he trusts with his life and whom he believes in without doubt. Sam may need him to feel safe, but the irony is that for the first time in his long existence he needs for a human to give him what no other being can. It scares and amazes him at once how the soul in his arms holds this much power over him. Love, oh… he's heard of it, but the depth in meaning of the emotion itself has always eluded him, or has it?

"Good…" Sam mumbles, while closing his eyes at last.

In the dark Castiel feels how the tension of the day slowly leaves Sam. How the hunter can't cling to it when he is beyond exhausted, after days of denying himself the reprieve out of his fear for nightmares. He hates how Sam never speaks of it. That he struggles alone, because he doesn't have the words to speak of what haunts him… of those damned days spent in the cage at the centre of hell with the biggest monster of all. Somehow the scars on his soul only make it shine brighter, which to date stuns Castiel.

Each breath Sam takes comes out deeper now, further apart, until they shift into soft snores and peaceful slumber. Content to listen Castiel too shuts out the world beyond the crappy motel room. No, he doesn't need sleep in the sense that humans do, but all the same his essence is happy to drift off and let go of his troubled thoughts until the inevitable rise of the sun warns him of how all blessings are fated to end.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight filters in through the thin, green curtains and into his awareness, slowly. Sam wants to ignore it though. After many mornings of crude awakenings and nights of bad dreams he can't help but cling to the lifeline of peace. He's not had this in a long time. That feeling of safety found in lying so close to another being… to a loved one. Their arm wrapped around him as he's tucked in from behind. A cheek resting against his shoulder blade and a leg pressing in between his as if it belongs there, at least so during the night. Body heat seeps in through his suit trousers and dress shirt. He's almost content to bask in it… almost, because the truth of whom he's sharing a bed with niggles at the self-doubt in his mind.

No, he's not worthy of this. How can an angel want to sleep with him? Sam vaguely remembers his request for Castiel to stay as they were. Even now he's baffled by the fact that they'd ended up like this in the first place. The memory alone of how Castiel had half undressed him, quietly and morose, to take his hand and follow him to the bed seems almost too good to be true. He recalls as well how the angel had never let go of him. Sam blinks open his eyes to look at those same elegant fingers which lie splayed out over his dress shirt and chest. In the pure physical sense he can slip away with ease and pretend none of it has happened, but Sam doesn't listen to the impulse… can't when soft lips press a kiss to the nape of his neck.

"Morning, Samuel…"

Were it any other person to use his full name like this Sam would have told them off, but now… with how rough and endearing Castiel sounds… it leaves him with nothing but soft emotions. "Cas…" He rolls around to face him, careful not to fall from the bed. Yet the second their eyes lock Sam has to look away with a blush of sudden shyness, because what he finds is nothing short of adorable. Everything in the once so stern angel's appearance is ruffled, messy. From the way his short hair stands out to how his shirt has become half undone, no longer tucked inside of his suit pants, he looks more human than Sam has ever seen him. Despite of himself Sam braves another glance at the sleepy blue eyes. "You stayed."

"Of course I did."

"I know", Sam hurries to end the confusion he sees bubbling up.

Castiel though shakes his head. "For the both of us, Sam. I too needed it."

Sam blinks at the rawness in the voice behind those words. It's not a secret as such to him that they've been growing closer over these last few years. That they enjoy the company of the other and have shared his bedroom at the bunker on several evenings; a few nights even when the sound of the television and Castiel's quiet presence lulled him asleep. But to hear that he, but a mortal soul, was needed? It's too much and yet everything he's wanted for longer than he can even fathom himself. Sam is not sure of when it happened, maybe even at the start, but it's beyond obvious now that it has. Is this love? But what he feels for Castiel is so different to how he once felt about Jessica… and later Amelia. Their bond of friendship has grown so much deeper and yet Sam feels no physical pull driven by lust. Sure, he aches for the closeness, but…

His thoughts shatter when Castiel rests his hand on his left cheek to brush his thumb over his by morning stubble covered cheek with a smile of fondness and the look of someone who knows him too well. "Don't over-think it", he offers. "Use that clever brain of yours for the case. I'm not going anywhere, not without you."

It's impossible for Sam to not melt under the touch, to think any further on how he should feel or act. These feelings between them aren't going anywhere… not even should Castiel walk his own path for a while. Sam can see it now, feel it too in this morning of unexpected and uncensored honesty. Everything not said, and everything they might never find the words for, it's there all the same, and it is shared. He is loved, not only by his brother. As daunting and scary as it is, Sam too feels no uncertain amounts of joy wrap around his weary heart. Maybe he is tainted and broken, but the angel before him ain't perfect either… for one the pain inside of him burns far too bright for Sam to miss it. And so, rather than hide himself like he usually tends to do, Sam brushes a chaste kiss onto the forehead before his. "Let me freshen up first?"

"Go on, do your human morning routine. I will fetch coffee and breakfast, yes?"

"Thank you." Even as Sam sits up he smiles at Castiel to emphasise that his gratitude reaches far beyond breakfast.

Castiel too gets up. He tucks his shirt back in place when he answers him. "Any time."

For minutes after the door closes behind his friend Sam stares at the ugly, green painted, wooden panel with a smile on his face. If nothing else, something good has come out of being here at this by most forgotten motel. He's almost glad now to be here… even with the burden of the case falling back upon his shoulders.

* * *

There's a flutter in his essence, a bounce to his step too, as Castiel crosses the street. Even while the morning around him is a dull grey he feels more light hearted than he's done for days. Sleep… as much as it eludes him he finds that he can get used to it with Sam wrapped up next to him… knowing that the hunter is safe. Strange how nothing about sharing the motel bed or waking up in such close quarters with Sam had felt awkward to him, rather the opposite. Castiel feels rested for a change. It is as if he's no longer running on empty, or feeling quite as lost as he was yesterday. Sure, he's still the out of place angel, who does not fit in Heaven or on Earth, but somehow it matters less to him today that he's stuck, unable to fly with his broken wings.

Castiel shivers and he shrugs himself deeper into his trench coat. With each day he feels the power of Heaven slip further away. There are so few of his kind left, but the longer he's down here with Sam and Dean the more he knows he's not alone. His mortal family… and himself be damned, he knows he's fallen for them long ago. His brothers, not by creation or blood, but by what they've been through together. A bond so strong that it's led him down a path of freedom. It is his choice too to stay with them. But what he hadn't seen coming or can't deny for any longer, is how Sam has taken up residence in the core of everything he is, his heart, were he human.

His soft smile of fond thoughts still plays on his lips when he enters the breakfast counter slash coffee shop. Truth is, his mind is too distracted to pay its name any attention. He's seen too many bright coloured places of its kind to bother stacking this one up to any special status. Castiel though glances over at the few occupants; the quietly talking couple in the back and the elderly man invested in his newspaper. He can't miss the photograph of yesterday's crime scene printed into it either, but he ignores the twinge of regret it provokes in favour of letting the servant, a woman in her thirties, behind the counter take his order. Cheryl, or so he reads from her name tag pinned on her blue apron.

"Morning, Cheryl. Can I have two coffees? Both strong and black… one with sugar."

"Sure, hun." She grabs a pencil and note pad from the large pocket of her apron. Even as she scribbles down his order she looks him over, eyes turning almost predatory… and can he hear the rise in her pulse? However before Castiel can feel awkward under her blatant scrutiny, she asks, "To take out I gather?"

"Yes please."

"Shame. We do a mean breakfast special. Eggs, bacon… the works."

Castiel shakes his head at her offer. "Just a couple of sandwiches. One with tomato, salad and cheese. The other turkey."

Where she'd seemed far too bright before Cheryl shrugs. "Anything else?" Upon the shake of his head she moves away from the counter to hand her note to the young man in the open kitchen. Castiel barely notices how she herself aims for the coffee maker, which jumps to life with the typical noise of water heating up and coffee getting ground. The smell however hits him as soon as it pours hot and warm into the take away cups.

Leaning against the counter, Castiel stares outside, not quite seeing the cars which are driving by as the side-walk too fills up with people. The city is coming to life, but his thoughts leave it to drift back to last night. Back to the memory of holding Sam close. To being able to let go of staying alert and sharp like his kind tend to. Sleep may never cease to baffle him as a concept, the feeling of slipping into an unconscious state too alien a sensation for him to want to embrace… and yet, maybe at some point he too will have to? The idea seems less scary now than it has ever done before.

Half away on thought still he pays Cheryl his due, grabs the full paper bag she's handed him and he returns to the one human being who has him both distracted and fully focussed at once. Sam needs him. This is their case to solve, and maybe… as much as Castiel enjoys the company of Dean too… he's quietly more than happy that on this one the eldest Winchester doesn't interrupt the easy flow they have going between them.

* * *

After breakfast Sam does feel more awake, his thoughts at last are more willing to return to the case rather than staying with his musings on feelings he doesn't quite get yet. The small table in their room lies covered with the local newspaper, what remains of their breakfast wrappings, his gun and an angel blade. Across from him Castiel is leafing through the journal John Winchester left them behind years ago. Sam though doesn't look at him. Instead his attention draws ever further into his digital research on his laptop. Myths, ancient lore and more recent sightings blend together to paint him a blurry picture. From it he can unfold a more vivid tale of sacrifice, magic and rewards. There is even an old drawing to go with the ancient Celtic spirit known as Cernunnos… antlers included.

What he doesn't get is how a mysterious and ancient God grew in fame over time. So many others were lost, forgotten about by humanity, but in the Wiccan community Cernunnos has become the symbol of fertility and the male divine. Druids too have always worshipped him and the few of their kind left still do. And maybe it's no different than believing in Heaven, Hell and God, but at least of those Sam has come across proof that they exist… and then some. Sitting across an angel alone has confirmed him in his faith years ago. Still, on some days he wishes it weren't so. That he can forget hell exists. Pretend that demons are nothing but figments of the mind and that the devil, Lucifer, is no more than a story in the bible.

No, he's seen too much to dismiss any myth offhand. If witches still put their faith in Cernunnos then he must still be around. And so, Sam reads on. What he finds though doesn't add up. "So…" Sam puts his thoughts into words, "Once Cernunnos was connected to hunting and he's never seen outside of the forest, where he watches over the cycle of life. Birth and death, with everything in between, I guess."

"Yes. Connected to the deer, always depicted horned or with antlers. Like a part of the Earth and so a true Pagan God… but a mysterious and hidden one", Castiel agrees.

"Until now."

"Hmm… why?"

"Exactly."

"If he's the one responsible then what is he doing in the city? Killing people, without luring them back to the forest as a sacrifice, or something?"

Silence falls between them, comfortable, as they each are thinking about reason and logic, as far as it can be applied to any deity of ancient powers. Sam clicks onto another link…

"Maybe someone drew him out?" Castiel looks outside to point at the cold street and parking place of concrete outside. "In his time the forest was far larger and humanity lived in far fewer numbers. But now, mankind cuts down trees, and they destroy his home to build blocks on end of offices and apartments. Someone can have blundered in on a holy site, ripped apart what they did not understand in the name of expansion… or greed…"

"Ignorance of the old ways."

"Of powers that have not been seen for centuries."

"Maybe it is the absence of offerings?"

"Perhaps. Or they stole something that belonged to him."

"An artefact", Sam catches onto his meaning. "Ancient and maybe powerful. So then, someone could have sought out to gain it to better themselves." He pulls his laptop close again to break into the local police archives put on-line, albeit behind a safe word. Too easy, or maybe he's getting too experienced in hacking? Either way, Sam searches through the reports of the last few weeks… going back an extra week for good measure. "There!"

The second Sam reads about a particular theft he believes that he's hit the jackpot. "Patrick O'Malley, a war veteran and widower, reported a break-in about a month ago. He told them that a family heirloom had been stolen. A bronze chalice studded with blood red rubies, and nothing else of 'value'… according to the officer who wrote it down."

"Specific, but still… that doesn't sound like it's related to our case."

"Yet, but in the middle of the next day 'O Malley walked into his son's house and he found him dead, lying on his kitchen floor", Sam says as he clicks on the link to open the coroner's findings. "Vincent was stabbed to death, with bone splinters in his stomach. In her report doctor Lewis, the coroner, claims that his veins contained traces of animal blood mixed in with his own. Upon her finding the sheriff names him as the first victim. No one though connects his death to the theft, but I think we'd better look into it."

Castiel nods. Thinking back on their findings so far, he asks, "The animal, was it a deer?"

"They are still running tests, but possibly. So, either Vincent drank it while alive, or it somehow got into his system when he was killed. The only way to make sure that all six stab victims are connected to our case, and that each one is monster related, is to visit the coroner's office. There's got to be a reason why our three colourful witnesses have all 'hallucinated' the same spirit animal, or if we are right, seen the same Pagan God."


	3. Chapter 3

The coroner's office is a cliché of white painted walls and rooms of a bland, impersonal style. Even dressed in his suit and trench coat Castiel can't help the shiver of discomfort which travels down his spine. Jimmy has never liked these kinds of places, always felt irritated and upset during their visits. Oddly, even without his soul present, Castiel feels his sorrow over why the world needs coroners to seek out answers to what they do to their own kind. He's unsure why the feeling remains, but he doesn't visit the thought any further. Figures it might be his own regrets that are weighing his essence down. So, regardless of his unease, Castiel follows Sam on his heels as he enters the examination room. On automatic he flashes his badge, right side up, in tune with his partner and friend.

"Doctor Lewis? I am Agent Plant, and this is my partner, Agent Jones", Sam introduces them both.

"Agents", the middle aged woman welcomes them with a wry smile. "So… you've got yourself an interesting case. I have seen many bodies, but these are different."

"Different how?"

Castiel glances over at Sam, who puts on a pair of sky blue, thin latex gloves; ready to find his evidence and as seemingly collected as ever around another body spread out on the work top. It goes unsaid that he will watch and use his angelic senses while Sam leads the way from a pure intellectual stance. Castiel has never asked how come that the hunter knows so much, but he has seen Sam connect the dots and even point out details which the coroners had missed during their initial exam, mostly because they know nothing about their world of monsters and everything else weird.

"Well, we've got six men in their thirties. Virile, strong, except maybe for the homeless guy. They were all attacked from behind and impaled on a weapon yet to be specified. Nothing too strange on the outside. Only a few bruises and post death cuts from when they fell to the ground. That which makes no sense lies beneath the surface of their skin. When I dissected them and I looked at their organs I found out that most of them were perforated by small bone shards." She holds out a file full of labelled x-ray photographs to Sam.

He accepts it with a polite smile and starts leafing through them, reading the tags, every now and then holding one x-ray sheet out to the light. "Liver, stomach, lungs… and even a heart." Castiel watches him point out the clear forms of foreign objects, which look sharp and painful to him.

"My tests are conclusive, I have double checked each result. The shards and their blood contain traces of deer", Doctor Lewis says.

Sam nods at that, and Castiel too catches onto the firm line of confirmation it sets. Can it be that they are on the right path? Doctor Lewis underlines their idea so far. "In all six subjects?" Sam asks for what they both want to know.

"Indeed."

As they are speaking, a distant phone rings for attention. Footsteps bounce off the wall outside of the door of the examination room. They are heading closer at a somewhat hurried pace until a young man knocks on the door and he enters with a smile of politeness. "Doctor, it is the sheriff, he wants the results on the blood tests and he isn't in the mood to wait."

The coroner rolls her eyes, resigned to what needs to be done. "Excuse me, Agents."

Castiel nods, "Of course." He waits for her to leave and catches Sam doing the same. When silence returns, Sam rests aside the file while Castiel too moves closer to the half uncovered body of David on the examination table. "She is right. They were virile, even poor David here. It is like…" Castiel sniffs to be sure of the bitter scent which lingers beyond the fragrance of several cleaning fluids in the room and on David's dead skin, sown back together after being opened. "I am sure now. He has recently ejaculated."

"Huh." Wide eyed Sam stares at him, surprise evident on his face. With a shrug and a wince he pushes aside the remainder of the sheet to reveal David's lower regions. Sure enough, there are dried up reminders on both of his thighs. "You'd think she would mention this first. Do you think the others too…"

"It would make sense with what we know about Cernunnos so far."

"Sense?"

Castiel shrugs. "An offering of life essence, taken without their blessing or free will."

Sam moves over to the desk and computer, the latter of which no doubt holds their answers contained. Nodding, Castiel assures him of how he will watch out and ensure of no intrusion on their quiet, but illegal research into more private findings on the victims. As so often Sam types away on the keyboard with ease, eyes roving over the screen soon to gather more answers. After but a minute he nods, his face set grim. "Rape, but not in the sense as the coroner understands it. And yes, all six were fertile men, drained until they were… well, completely spend, their semen gone until the last drop. The only question is, why these men? And what, if anything, has the reported stolen chalice to do with Cernunnos?"

* * *

The O'Malley house has seen better days, Sam figures. For one the white picket fence has faded to greys. A lone pine tree stands of decades old in the foot high grass of what must have been a pristine lawn at its height of glory. The plants in the borders too paint a mess, and yet the wilder grown ivy that crawls up the light blue walls gives the once family home a certain character. Dark blue paint peels off the window sills and the front door alike. Sam though doesn't have to knock on it. Instead he uses the old fashioned bell, which dangles from a hook, and while he knows it's coming he still flinches at the loudness of its clang.

There's some shuffling and a grumble coming from inside before Patrick O'Malley opens the door. He leans on his cane as he looks up at Sam, making up for more than a foot of height difference. His crooked back doesn't help the poor man either. "Hello. Mister O'Malley?" Sam hunches over best he can to meet him halfway. Flashing his fake badge, he introduces himself. "I'm Agent Plant and this is my partner Agent Jones. We're looking into a string of thefts in your area."

"Since when is this Federal business?"

Sam answers the frown with a wry shrug. "We think that it may be related to the death of your late son, Vincent."

"Then you gentlemen may be smarter than the locals…" Patrick gestures for them to follow him. Not wasting time he shuffles off with a limp, leaning heavily onto his cane as he makes his way down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. "Don't mind the mess. The girl… what's her name… she's not been in days." He sits down, mind half distracted for long seconds. It seems as if he's trying to catch onto a name and yet he can't grasp it. Shaking his head, he looks at Sam as he sits down across from him. He doesn't seem the least bit offended when Castiel opts to lean against the counter rather than empty the cluttered seat of the final chair. Instead he reaches out a weathered hand to grab the open bottle of Irish whiskey.

Sam shakes his head when Patrick moves on to fill a second glass. "We can't. We are on the clock", he offers with a wry smile. It's not that he actually wants to drink, far from it, but he can see much of Dean in the man before him. The darkness behind brown eyes contains within the painful memories of a soldier, of someone who has killed to serve mankind. Sam has no doubt that his injured leg too is a reminder of war. Whiskey offers no man a cure, but on some days it dulls the sharpness from those pains.

Taking out his notebook, Sam asks, "Sir, could you tell us about the stolen item, the bronze chalice… a family heirloom?"

"Call me Patrick", the man before him sighs. "It's been in my family for years. You see, my grandfather Seamus O'Malley was an archaeologist. He found it on a dig in the Old Country, Ireland. Said it was tucked in the dirt at the bottom of an ancient, giant standing stone stood in the middle of a corn field. I am not sure of its story… not the original one anyhow. Seamus had a wild fantasy. Told me as a lad that I was the next safe keeper of the darned ugly thing. That fairies or the likes would try to steal it. Sure, why not? As a teenager I wondered if it was worth something… but even as an adult when my wife hated it I could not sell it. I kept it stored in my safe instead, until her death. Only took it back out then."

Sam can see Castiel tilt his head before he asks, "Why?"

"Memories." Patrick takes another gulp of whiskey as if to drown something unseen. "Seamus, old fool that he was, sat me down on his knee so many times to tell me about his adventures. He would often point at the chalice, but not in fondness. Always in warning. Drunk off his ass the older he got… whispering about the gate to another world. That it should remain closed and I'd better not let down my family… his clan. It made no sense then, but lately… Oh, I don't know. At my age I may have become the fool. Genetics and all that. I tell you though, Agent Plant, there are shadows in the dark, and they took my son." Looking at Sam, he brushes over wet eyes with the back of his hand.

"You've come to believe there is truth in your grandfather's stories?" Sam chooses to ignore the smell of whiskey. Sure, in his grief Patrick has probably had one glass too many already, but what if the alcohol isn't the only force to blame? Magic from the Celts doesn't sound far-fetched to him. Paganism has a solid origin in places like Ireland and it's more than possible its emigrants took some of it with them to America… in this case a bronze chalice found at a once holy site to druids.

"What do I know? I am but an old soldier, son. The sheriff doesn't agree and who am I to tell him how to do his job? You on the other hand…" He shakes his head and fills his glass again. "My mind isn't worth much anymore, but I can read people… and you two… well, I have a feeling you will get to the bottom of why my boy isn't here anymore, won't you?"

* * *

Slipping into the driver's seat, Castiel closes his car door behind him. An eerie feeling has befallen him. He's not sure why he feels upset or uneasy. Patrick isn't the first human being he's seen struck by grief and sorrow, nor will he be the last. Mortality; a cruel beast all on its own, and yet it makes humans what they are. Their joy for living in itself comes from their inevitable demise. Alas so comes their sadness and pain.

At his side Sam lets out a soft sigh. The mournful sound alone conveys his mood, but he too adds. "Poor man. Do you think he'd have been better off if he sold the chalice?"

"Most likely." Castiel agrees with a shrug.

"But then someone else would have had to deal with whatever this is."

"Fairies…" But even as he says it Castiel corrects himself, "Perhaps shadows brought forth from the forest, or rather worshippers called forth by a Pagan God. Magical beings devoted to serve Cernunnos. Sam, what if they were human to begin with?"

"What makes you say so?"

"Seamus warned his grandson about a gate into another world. The chalice may well have been used by humans seeking to step through it. You human kind are explorers. Maybe the old Celts saw something in the world of magic they could not find in their Earthly existence. Or maybe they were promised reward for a sacrifice to Cernunnos. Once there were so many religions… more than those which have lasted through time."

"Maybe so." Sam grabs his phone to tap away at the screen. "What we need to do is look beyond fairy tales and the fragmented memories of a grandchild grown to his old age. Witness or not, Patrick doesn't know where Seamus' love for stories ended and that it is beyond likely that the myth was in fact once reality. Only history knows the truth beyond the Irish folk tales."

Castiel nods his agreement. "Library?"

"There is one at the centre of town."

Even as he searches his coat pocket for his car keys Castiel can't help the shiver of unease that creeps over his essence. It's almost like a shadow falls over the street, but then the cloud moves away and so he shakes the unwanted feeling away as a figment of imagination. Maybe winter no longer agrees with him? No one is out there. Only Patrick and his neighbours going about their lives behind the windows of their houses. He can't see anyone else around and so he dismisses the idea that someone is watching him pull the car away from the curb. As he drives off the sensation too fades away, so he forgets it was ever there…


	4. Chapter 4

At close to six in the afternoon the library is quieting down. Sam finds them a table at the centre of the wide space filled with rows on end of shelves full of books and rolled up scrolls. He sets down his laptop, takes off his grey coat and he hangs it over the back of the nearest chair, which he claims as his for the remainder of the day, or at least for how long the library is open to visitors…

The flashing of his FBI badge though, and a look of what Dean calls his puppy dog eyes, assures them that said opening hours will get stretched out for him and his partner. The grey haired woman in glasses had frowned at the word, smiled even, as if she thought that Castiel and he had something more going on. Sam had not even managed to blush over how true it felt when said partner was already heading over to the shelves in his brisk, almost alien, but oh-so-typical style. Purpose over small talk, to which Sam hastily agreed with a parting smile of apology over still feeling caught out.

Even as Sam pulls back the chair, Castiel returns to his side, now smiling over his findings, which he carries in a precarious pile in his arms. Before any ancient tome can fall onto the floor Sam helps his friend unload his cargo of paper and parchment. The smell alone is enough to entice him to pick one up. Beyond the leather bindings of dark brown lies in wait a world of paganism; introductions to their Gods and the deities most of humanity has forgotten about. He leafs through the pages until he finds Cernunnos. Drawn in further to what the writer has to say about his powers and abilities, Sam feels around for the chair next to Castiel. Lost to the world around him he sinks into it and he spreads his open book carefully onto the table to read on.

Sam doesn't have to look up to hear that Castiel is leafing through old pages. Though otherwise silent the shared enjoyment of doing research falls over him. His current company doesn't grumble after half an hour of silence. He only pushes aside the books they don't find all that useful and he happily picks up another… and another… until they have what they've come here for.

Four books in Sam stumbles upon a picture of what looks close to the stolen chalice. "Cas", he whispers and nudges his friend gently in the side. When a gaze full of intent blue meets with his call for attention Sam shoves the book over to him to show him the drawing and the article it's featured in.

"Wood Nymphs?" Castiel pulls the book closer to read the same paragraph Sam had glanced at. "I have heard of them… but I never saw one. They're elusive creatures at best. Shadows indeed."

"Once druid women. Worshippers like we thought. They sought out immortality, which they were granted if they drank from this thing." Sam points at the chalice.

"Unlike the rest of the text this spell is written in ancient Gaelic. No, it's not a spell… a list of ingredients."

"Can you read them?"

"Some of it", Castiel squints even as he speaks. "It speaks of deer blood. The life essence of seven… not blood, but… ah, of course… this word means virility."

"Meaning their semen." Sam keeps his voice at a stage whisper. His mind though leaps fast from a blush to the most important part of what Castiel had just translated. "So, what David saw may not have been a man. Wait… seven sources? This means she needs one more victim. Cas, we need to figure out how she chooses them. Are there any more clues in this article?"

"None." Castiel leans back in his chair as he too considers their information so far. "Sam, even if we find her, how do we stop her? I have read nothing about a weapon."

Looking over their modest pile of books Sam spreads out his arms. "So far, but we are in a library. If the answer is anywhere it has to be here. Why don't you read more lore to search for the weapon. I want to try and see if I can narrow down our search for her to a pattern of behaviour. Our victims must have had something in common… at least coming across her if nothing else."

Sam smiles at how Castiel nods before he pushes back his chair. Action speaks louder than words as his friend stalks off in a flash of beige trench coat and an aura of determination. If anyone can find them the answer Castiel can, and if not he won't stop trying until he's read every last book on Irish lore that he can put his hands on. Trusting on that sheer intent alone, Sam unfolds the city map before he reaches for his laptop to get to work.

* * *

The clock strikes away another hour. Castiel however is none the wiser for it. For all of his browsing through fairy tales, lore and myths of the ancient Celts he has found nothing to strike at a Wood Nymph. Maybe he has to look at it from a different angle? From a little more distance he peers at the long row of titles stamped on the back bone of the books. Runes, glyphs… and even one in Enochian, the language of Angels… his kind. He draws to it like moth to a flame. What does an Angel have to say about the Pagan God of the Forest?

Under his gentle fingers the paper feels breakable. Castiel researches each page, reading faster than any human can. Long ago a wayward angel had visited the Emerald Isle later known as Ireland. Its nickname whispered even before humanity claimed it as theirs. For all its beauty he found a flaw to it… a darkness unlike any other. Not malevolent in nature on itself, not yet. That came later. When humanity wronged Cernunnos by cutting down the trees and forgetting his importance in the cycle of life itself. They no longer needed him, or did they?

Castiel feels a stab of pity for the loss of trees himself. Nature - his Father's creation - is left more fragile than ever. Was humanity wrong to dismiss Cernunnos the way they did? Could it be so that the Pagan God was no more than a servant of God himself? But as he reads on he also sees the flaws in this line of thinking. Cernunnos, it seems, wanted power for himself as time moved on. He sought to find more druids to fuel his reign. Female worshippers… indeed the Wood Nymphs, answered his call.

They, more so than their master, feared the holy light of the Angels. Shrieking, they fled from the one who had lived on the Isle with them. Shadows retreated where he walked… why? Eager for answers Castiel turns the page. At last, there it is! The truth of why Cernunnos' servants can be no more than vessels for his anger… wraiths of sorts, beings doomed to walk away from the light until eternity, or at least until the light cancels them out. Nothing ever last forever, Castiel agrees with the writer. Immortality is but a figment of the imagination. One not even God… his absent Father… can claim to master.

Book in hand, Castiel hurries to where he's left Sam with his part of the research. As he reaches the table he says, "The weapon, I've found it."

But in the second he opens his mouth, Sam meets his arrival with words of success as well. "I've narrowed it down…" His large hand encircles a three block area on the map, which is marked with red circles, black dots and lines. Sam grins before he stops himself short. "Go on, you go first."

"The light in me, my grace, and the blood of my vessel. Coat an iron blade with it and we can stop the magic in the Servant of Cernunnos. The Wood Nymph. But Sam… it will kill her if she has slipped too far into darker thoughts or if the shadow is already claiming her soul. That decision is his… her master, Cernunnos."

Castiel can see the regret wash over Sam, but as the hunter lowers his head he too raises it again with a wry look of resignation. "We may not be able to safe her, but she has made her choice while her next victim has not. We need to focus on him and stop her. I have narrowed in her hunting area to three blocks, with our motel stood on the far edge. All we need to do is patrol the area and maybe draw her out to us."

"She may not come, Sam. If she's aware of what I am. My grace might be enough to warn her."

Sam walks around the table to stand by his side. Castiel feels the heat of his palm which comes to rest on his shoulder. "I know we don't talk about it, but your grace is low… and so maybe she won't know… and if she does, well… we've got me. I will be bait."

"Sam…" It doesn't even surprise him anymore how Sam offers himself up, but the way it takes his breath away in fear of losing the one soul to keep him going has him reach out to rest his hand atop the one his friend hasn't retreated yet.

Sure enough, Sam catches his intent and he offers a wry smile. "I don't like it either, but I see no other way. You?" At the shake of his head, Sam leans closer to offer, "Don't worry. I will keep you close, Cas. Say a prayer if it goes to hell… you can still hear those, can't you?"

Aware of how much Sam needs him Castiel risks a chaste kiss onto the nearest cheek. "I do. Promise me… that you will?"

The only answer he requires is the freely given, self-aware smile of dimples. After a beat though Sam steps away from him with a smirk. "Of course, you are my weapon. Come, let's pack and head back to the motel. I need a change of clothes and at least something to defend myself with, to buy myself some time should she come for me. And we need to get you an iron blade."

"Do we need to inform the sheriff?"

"And say what? That one of his female citizens has become a shadow whom kills virile men?"

"Perhaps not." Castiel slips in behind Sam to follow the hunter on his stride of purpose, heading back to their base otherwise known as the no-star-motel room.

* * *

Sam ditches his fed-suit onto the bed without ceremony or care. Posed for the mission at hand, he aims for the bathroom where he splashes some water onto his face. Its cool temperature helps him to focus his thoughts. Being bait sucks. He's done it too often, has had to, and yet he won't have it any other way. Physical pain he can deal with, but watching a friend get hurt? It's not an option. Less so when said angel means a hell of a lot more to him than he has words for.

Sam glances up into the mirror as he dries his face with the rough cotton towel. What he can do is trust Castiel to watch his back, because he has done so for years. Grinning to himself, Sam shakes his head at how impossibly far they've come from that first hand awkward hand shake. So much has happened since and never once did either of them stand down from what they believed needed done. So no, he's not going to start now…

In his grey t-shirt and boxer briefs Sam returns to the main room. As he hauls his jeans up onto his hips, and he zips them closed, he catches a glimpse of blue irises full of intent. Rather than address them he puts on his black and blue flannels. "I am good." He meets Castiel's concern with what he hopes is a confident smile. The truth is that he does feel like himself again. Ready to do his job and then some. This is his life, what he is, and for it he won't apologise, won't have to with his current company, far from it.

Castiel tilts his head as if to listen to some unseen force. Eyes seem to peer right into Sam, but they too darken with emotions and a pain he can't grasp. They shatter though as fast as they came. "As am I." Castiel rises from his perching position on the other bed, once more confident and determined. While his vessel seems weaponless Sam knows that his angel blade lies burrowed hidden inside of his sleeve. That his true power comes from his inhuman strength. Before him stands a soldier from heaven, a fallen angel strong enough to break and rise again. Of course, every being has its weakness, and they both know theirs isn't the fear for themselves. Castiel doesn't have to speak of his worries any more than Sam has to. One solemn glance shared tells him enough.

Pre-mission tension falls way though in favour of preparation. Sam tucks his handheld gun into the back of his jeans, along with the demon blade and a backup clip of bullets stowed away into his coat pocket. On their own they won't do him any good, but he counts on them for distraction and helping him win time to pray to Castiel… or maybe a shout will be a enough. He knows that the angel has an ear out for both Dean and him, always does. But, unlike in the past Castiel can't fly to his side in a blink of an eye. He'll need time to come running…

A loud crash disturbs everything in Sam. He all but jumps out of his skin, incapable of not flinching at the sound, which has no right to cut into his being. The fighter in him upholsters his gun from his waistband even as the motel front door gets ripped from its hinges and the wooden panel tumbles inwards in splintered parts. It falls apart further on the floor while Sam stares dumbfounded in fear and surprise at the unwanted arrival of a dark haired woman, who comes to stand in the opening she created.

"What the…" Sam cocks the safety pin free as he aims it at what can only mean them harm. The fury alone in brown eyes is enough to ignite a fire by itself. Why is she here? Who, if not what, is she?

"You…" Her finger points at the space next to Sam.

By his side Castiel tilts his head in bewilderment. "Do I know you… wait… Cheryl?"

Her already fierce stare ignites with anger even further, chilling Sam to the bone. It's like he can feel the magic ooze off her. It burns red, like her uniform shirt, from which he now can read her name tag and the name of the coffee shop from across the road. She drops her hand and takes a step forwards, threatening, never once dropping her ablaze eyes from Castiel.

"Oh, you will see me now handsome…" The words are spat out like a threat, her voice edged with an almost inhuman sound of a darker timbre. "… before you die, anyway. My seventh soul. The one who like the others before him used me as some servant, nothing worth to bother with. I am tired of people looking down at me with pity or disgust. As if I am to blame for the scar on my face. As if I had asked for it by saying no to that bastard son of O'Malley. Respectable family my ass. He may have forgotten and forgiven Vincent for hitting me in anger but I have not. This? Ha, they don't know the favour they did me… fools!"

Even in the face of danger Sam can't help his nature to want to understand what drives the monster before him. In his mind he connects the dots fast, to how Cheryl must have stolen the chalice from the family. Maybe out of spite? Or maybe to sell it, but instead its master had started to whisper to her, the pagan magic of Cernunnos powerful enough after all these centuries to use her anger and fuel onto it further. He can't say he doesn't feel for her, but can they still reason with her or is it too late?

"I wasn't… but perhaps it looked like I ignored you. My mind was on someone else. Believe me, I had no reason to disregard you or to offend you. If I have, I am sorry." Castiel says, as he lowers his angel blade from his coat sleeve. Useless, but Sam can see that he too is weighing his options like the soldier he is.

"Cheryl…" Sam starts, but he never gets a chance to start or finish his plea to her…

"Be silent. We have chosen and so it shall be", Cheryl hisses. Rather than stick to her warning she dismisses Sam with a flash of magic, the force of which lifts him from where he was standing to get thrown around until he crashes against then slides down the wall once behind him. Dazed by a white hot surge of pain, Sam tries to stay with it, but his sight blurs and the world around him spins while he tries to make sense of what happens next…

Not even deeming him worth another glance, Cheryl pulls something out of her bag, which she then drops by the door, as if readying herself to take her sacrifice in name of Cernunnos. Sure enough, Sam can see her hazy form narrow in further onto Castiel. Her threat now holds an added weight within as she raises the weapon that has killed six innocents; a two foot long spear made from a deer antler. "Kneel", Cheryl puts a single word to her threat.

In his response to her, Castiel comes to stand firm in between Sam and the dangerous creature in their room. "I won't. Cheryl, listen… whatever you've been told, revenge isn't the answer…"

His attempt lands on deaf ears, and Cheryl attacks Castiel before he can say another word. Sam winces as her spear meets with his angel blade in an unsettling clang of pagan magic against the power of heaven. He's unsure of which is the stronger force or creature. Can see how Cheryl moves faster, more aimed towards offence. Another strike and she meets with flesh. Castiel cries out, but the cut into the flank of his vessel doesn't stop him from fighting on. Even as blood seeps into his suit and trench coat he pars her next move and he counters it with a swift blow, once enough to strike down a man. But she? The wood nymph before him is something different. Her fury gone past the point of no return reminds Sam of how some monsters can't be saved, how they refuse to see sense. As such he has to become the hunter he is and fall back onto their plan.

Drawing from his growing fear for Castiel as well as the adrenaline in his veins, Sam shakes off enough of the dizziness to reclaim his gun from the floor. He scrambles up his sore body and he aims for her without any further thought. Maybe they are forced to move onto plan B now, but he does well with improvising on the spot and so does Castiel. On his many years of experience alone Sam pulls the trigger. Determined to do his part in distracting Cheryl away from Castiel he squeezes his finger to fire again… and again…


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of Sam firing his gun is deafening, offensive in the motel room. Castiel cringes at how it for a split second takes him off guard. His stumble though goes unpunished. The monster before him wavers too, momentarily stunned by the lead projectiles that pass through her before they slam into the wall behind her, as if she's no more than a shadow on their plain of existence. Her inhuman smirk aimed for Sam chills him, but Castiel allows for her to be distracted by the hunter. One look shared and he knows why Sam fires again.

Time… Castiel doesn't need much of it. The salon table is but a few strides away from him. He closes the distance with ease and trades his angel blade for the dented weapon of iron, a far too human blade. Heavier than the one he's used to. His side throbs with pain as he twirls it in his hand to get a feeling for it. Magic pulses in tune with the wound in his side too, but he ignores how it makes his low on fuel grace itch and rage out against it. He needs the blood, his blood, and so he digs his left palm into his torn flesh until it comes away smeared and dripping wet with both the essence of his vessel and himself, enough to extend it onto the blade…

Even as the last bullet lodges itself into the motel room wall Cheryl recovers. "Pitiful attempt, _hunter_." Her snarl no longer sounds human. She raises her blade, ready to attack Sam and strike at him before he can fire again…

"No! It is me you want." Aware of how Sam can't defeat her without his blood, Castiel draws her attention and anger back to him.

"Do you surrender now?" She holds up her spear in threat, ready to strike should he defy her still.

"Never." Castiel too readies himself, not pausing to step in between Sam and Cheryl as she once more advances onto him. It seems impossible for a waitress to be so fluent a fighter, but Castiel has to move fast to defend himself and work even harder to use the iron blade in his hand to his advantage. How? He parries another blow, but he missteps and almost stumbles over the splinters of what used to be the motel room door.

His lapse is her gain. Sharp and fast her spear digs into his arm. Castiel cries out at the searing pain, which almost make him drop his blade… almost. He avoids a second strike with a practised feign and creates an opening by twirling around, and stabbing his blade backwards on instinct alone…

An angry howl, and as swift as it began the fight is over. What used to be Cheryl keels over onto the floor, grasping its abdomen where blood pours out of her in red and shadows of black. The magic too seems to be leaving her. Castiel squints at the pitiful heap of her in both relief and sorrow. She's gone and with her the threat she posed, but with her too a wronged woman who had gotten in over her head. Promises from a male God. Ironic almost, but more so tragic.

His sight however blurs while the pain in his side and arm pulses on stronger. Castiel stumbles at the rise of it. How his grace falters to heal him… how it too starts to seep out of him. He can feel something claw at it. Allowing for his vessel's eyes to glow their inhuman blue grace too, he tries to control his powers, to tell them to heal rather than to leave. Useless. What is going on?

Castiel follows the source of what calls out to him unheard. The bag… he needs to see what's in there, what plays havoc on everything he is. He more stumbles than walks over to it. His hands are growing cold, trembling, stiffening, as he opens it… to uncover the source of his pain gone so intense that he falls to his knees. The bag falls from his hands as the chalice once hidden inside rolls away across the floor and towards Sam, its rubies glowing bright in an ominous warning of magic as old as Castiel himself.

* * *

Sam stares at Castiel, who all but crashes merciless to the floor. His initial relief over the slain monster turns to instant worry for the one he loves. Blood and grace alike seeps out of the wounds inflicted on Castiel. His very being crumbles. He's whimpering in anguish and curling further in on himself as if something unseen rips into him. Something dark, dangerous, magic… that prickles in the air around them. Has the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on edge. Sam can feel it rise. How it upsets the few barely present traces of demon blood in his veins, ruffling his senses and instinct as a hunter alike. What the hell is going on?

As the chalice comes rolling towards his feet, Sam puts one and one together. Of course, this is the source! It has to be. Sam only has to look at the glowing rubies to know that it's doing something dangerous to Castiel. Can see how his friend glares at it as well, bewildered and pained by its presence. His eyes are glowing with power, but they flash out of light as quick as the angel's power surged up. It seems both repulsed and drawn to the darker magic. Almost like Cheryl and Castiel had been when they fought…

Sam realises then that the fight between dark and light isn't over, not for the angel in the room and not for Cernunnos, who watches from afar through the chalice. Picking it up from the floor, Sam tries to determine why. The evidence stares him in the eyes in the form of specks of dried up blood and semen; the essence of her previous victims. Those Cheryl had chosen, simply because they had not paid her attention or they had been at the wrong place, crossing her path at random… like Castiel had done. And of Vincent, the source of her initial anger. So much regret and pain, but he can't feel pity for her, not in this moment when he has to find a way to help Castiel.

What if he washes it? Will it be enough to clean out the remains of the life threatening spell? Sam dismisses it quickly, because it can't with a being so powerful as a pagan God. The circle of life… which ends in death, for mortal souls at least. But what of a fallen angel? Can the chalice destroy a being of light?

His train of thought crashes to a halt when Sam catches sight of the Lincoln parked outside. That's it! He leaps onwards to a more radical method, lying in wait. "Hang on", Sam tells Castiel. In a flash he runs outside to open the trunk of the car so that he can retrieve the stone jug tucked inside. He rummages through his bag full of weapons and ammunition. There has to be a lighter inside as well. Where is it?

The second he finds it too Sam sets the cup down onto the tarmac of the modest parking lot. With a twist of his wrist he unscrews the cork from the jug. He doesn't waste time on pouring holy oil into the chalice, uncaring that it spills over in a pool around its carved out foot. His more than practised hand sets it alight. Flames lick at the contents, burning the traces of magic off, before the bronze too begins to melt away. Nothing burns quite as hot or as effectively as holy oil can. The fuel of heaven, Sam supposes, holds a light within it that can burn everything down… even an archangel knows better than to not be wary of it. This is why they keep a jug of it in the trunk. It is one of the most powerful tools for a hunter to bring along their hunts, but will it be enough tonight?

The whimpers that are coming from inside are rising then falling to silence. Sam breaks away from the fire before him, desperate to know if he's not making matters worse for Castiel. What if his friend… his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach over what he can't even bear to think about. Fear claws at his throat as he storms inside of the motel room. No, he can't lose him, not now that he knows his feelings are returned. He can't lose another lover and walk on alone. Faith can't be that damned cruel, can she?

"Cas?!"

* * *

Flames are surging up around him, bright, cleansing. Castiel feels like he can't breathe as the pain overwhelms him. Darkness… until out of nowhere his abused grace is no longer held hostage by its long claws. He cries out in relief as it whirls around him to resettle within the flesh of his vessel, where it too knits closed wounds and eases muscles gone beyond tense from the fight he's had to endure.

Uncurling his body, Castiel sits up. Around him the motel room is a mess gone silent. Next to the splintered door now lies a pile of ashes rather than a human body. He blinks over its changed state. Did he do this? No, it can't be so. When he had collapsed Cheryl had been there, or at least the empty husk of her. Now it was her who got burned and not him. How? And where is Sam? Confusion and fear takes a firm hold of him…

…Until movement at the door opening brings an answer to his question. Sam appears before him like an out of breath vision of flannel and jeans. The shock on his face mirrors his. Weird doesn't quite cut it. Whatever sort of magic has been at work tonight they've not seen the likes of it before… and they know it's for the best if they never do again.

"What the… Cas… are you." Sam crashes to a halt before Castiel. A whiff of smoke and holy oil accompanies him, and with it the truth of why the hunter had run outside.

Grateful for his quick thinking, Castiel looks up at him while he feels for his side. Not even a scratch left. His vessel is back in tact as is he from a physical point of view… and that is what he will go with for now. It doesn't matter that he feels shaken, because he can see how the same goes for Sam. "I believe so", Castiel answers with a wry smile.

Nodding, Sam reaches out to him in a silent offer of help. Glad for it, Castiel accepts the lifeline of strength, and he allows for it to guide him back up onto his feet. Rather than let go of the hold Castiel leans into it, unsure of why he finds it so hard to break away to a more respectable distance. "Thank you", he tells Sam as their eyes meet.

The hazel look softens and deepens at once. Sam blushes, but regardless of his shyness he doesn't let go of the one handed grip around his clothed hip. The heat of which alone seeps into Castiel as a sign of affirmation of life. Seeking out to answer it, Castiel leans into him to kiss Sam soft on his lips, which aren't shy of speaking to him before their owner does.

"For a minute there… hell, I'd be so lost if you were to…", Sam's endearing stammer is all too telling for how afraid he truly was.

In his understanding and shared sympathy of the emotion Castiel kisses Sam again. "I am still here." He silences the but he sees forming and shakes his head. "Sam… don't. Be in the here too, with me?"

"I can do that."

The minimum of distances falls between them, no longer uncomfortable. Castiel smooths down his trench coat. As he does his hand connects with the covered set of car keys tucked away in his left pocket, and he smiles to himself. He knows what to do, what they need to find peace for the rest of the night. With enough confidence for them both he fishes the keys from his coat to dangle them in front of Sam's face. They have no reason to stay here, because there is no mess left behind to clean up, not of the variety others can't take care of. A pile of money will be enough for the motel clerk to forget about them… and the crash site they left behind.

Castiel smiles when Sam draws the same conclusion as he did and he snatches the keys from him without second thought. Even so the hunter grins at him. "You know, I can't guarantee you a safe drive in that contraption you call your car."

Aware of how Sam is teasing him, Castiel mock frowns before he steals back the keys. "You can always walk, _Samuel_."

His reward comes in a cute nose cringe and a smirk which tells him, " _Bitch please_ ". Out loud however the hunter sighs as he holds out his hand in his resignation. "You've been spending too much time with Dean", Sam complains.

Dropping his keys in the waiting large palm, Castiel shrugs his acceptance of the all too true statement. He can't argue with how both brothers have gotten under his skin. Each in their unique way has changed how he looks at humans and they too have influenced his behaviour as he learned what it means to be human. To live as they do. No, he doesn't feel offended by being called out on similar behaviour. Less so when Sam seems amused by it and far less torn up as a whole than before… and so Castiel asks, "Take us away from here?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Unexpectedly, Sam kisses his cheek before he parts from him to grab his bags and walk out through the gap left behind by the torn off door.

Castiel watches Sam as he goes, smiling over what has changed and stayed more or less the same between them. The keys which are dangling from long fingers are playing only the soundtrack of promise to him and so he too walks off, without a second thought, because they have what they need waiting at the turn of the ignition. Together on the road. Castiel wants for nothing more in the now, when they are too wired to sleep, and from the way Sam drives off he senses that his partner in more ways than one agrees with him.

THE END


End file.
